There I was in a strange land.  From all sides it was, smoke—­smoke—­smoke, darkness—­darkness—­darkness.  Ide read about the Egipshun darkness, but Pittsburgh is ahead of that, for while I couldent see in Pittsburgh, the blamed smoke was suffocatin me, and makin the teers run down my cheeks, like the prodigal son, when he was mournin for the deth of a rich unkle, who’d left him some cash, I made up my mind, that I would try and enter a bildin somewhere, and implore the ade of a pilot.

Hearin voices, I made a bee line from whence issood the voise.  After tumblin over severil dry goods boxes, I went head first throo a big glass winder, and landed my voluptous form at the feet of the cerprised groceryman, who was engaged in the lofty pursoot of measurin out a peck of onions.  “See here! my cullered friend,” says he, takin me by the cote collar, and marchin me up to view the ruin, which I had made.  “Yoove smashed a ten doller pane of glass.  Come, shell out the damage, or ile call a policeman.”  I tride to remonstrate with him agin his callin me a cullered man, at which he agin insisted on my payin for broken glass, &c.  To avoid further discussion, I planked down the required ammount, and flew into the street, with my mind vergin onto madness.

Why, oh! why? was I addressed as a “blackraskil,” “scoundrel,” &c.? was the thoughts which was ruunin’ throo my mind.

Bringin my hands to my eyes, a terrible suspishon flashed across my brain, as I diskivered to my horror, that my usually lilly white hands had turned black.

I couldent stand such feelins as I was in, for a great while.

Feelin along the side of numerous houses, I found my way into another store.

“Mister STOREKEEPER, who am I?—­and what am I?” said I, wildly interogatin a individual, who was standin by a big pile of caliker.

“I should say you was a descendant of HAM, and a pooty well died one too,” says he laffin.

“Me black? impossible sir!” was my reply.

He ceazed me by the hand and led me to a lookin glass.

Yes, the terrible truth stared me in the face.

I begun to realize my situation.  It suddenly occurred to me, that in the confusion of changin cars that mornin, that, likely as not, I’de got swapped off with some cullered preacher.

With my feelins workt up to a traggick pitch, and madly cussin the day that I left Skeensboro, I staggered into the street.

For a few minnits, I assumed the air and garbage of a loonytick.

I ran vilently again numerous individuals, and as the concussion generally piled me into the gutter, I quickly sprung to my feet, and waved my umbreller wildly into the air.

I was suddenly grabbed by the cote coller and moked into a large bildin, which I afterwards diskivered to be the Monongaheeler House.  I found myself confrontin a perliceman.  Says I, strikin a tragick attitood, “Am I GREEN, or am I not GREEN?  If I haint GREEN, who in SAM HILL am I?”